


Secrets

by thelovelylydia



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 13:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4627749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelovelylydia/pseuds/thelovelylydia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gaby coaxes Illya into another dance, where a few secrets are shared and some tension is released.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caroline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caroline/gifts).



> PLEASE listen to Amber Run's "I Found" before/while reading this. 
> 
> K. Thanks.
> 
> Also, leave a comment if you can!

They had been in this situation before; a magazine table betwixt the two, she on a couch, he in a chair. A chess board in front of him, a glass of ice-clinking whiskey in her hand. This was a repeat of another time, of another pair.

But that was before. This was different now. The two were not sitting in antagonistic silence, waiting for the other to shift improperly to start an argument. She wasn’t shoving the bottle of whiskey his way in hopes that he would take several country sized swigs of alcohol to numb his irritation. He wasn’t enveloped in his self played game of chess to try to forget that he shared a mission with a rather insolent East German girl.

The pair sat in comfortable silence, she taking small swigs of the strong liqueur, the burn which came with each swallow tickled the lining of her throat causing her to cough gently on occasion. A reaction she dreaded having each and every time she drank; she should be immune to the hardness, but somehow becoming more rigid to the sting was not in her nature. She felt too deeply.

He was drawn into his game not to ignore her, but to give the two of them quiet. It had been a long, frustrating day for the both of them, and he was more in want to fold into himself than to pester her with reflections.

Solo was better at verbally looking back at the day. Illya preferred the confines of his dangerous mind; as loud as it was in there, the noise was expected and comforting. A lullaby to him more than a cacophony.

It was no surprise then when she flipped the radio on in the next room, as he moved a white pawn forward a space, the music grated against his concentration. His vision tightened and flashed red, but a concentrated exhale cleansed his body of the rage as he flicked a white bishop at the knight, ending its crusade.

“Do you mind?” He turned, his blonde eyebrows crossed on his square face, making him look more menacing than Gaby knew him to be.

“I do not.” She pulled her long chocolate hair from its elegant twist, tossing the long clip on the bed behind her. “I’ve had a long day, as have you, and I am in need to blow off a little of that compressed air.”

Her dark eyes glinted playfully as she waved her free hand toward him, her other holding the tumbler of amber liquid.

“I am, as you say it, blowing off my steam right here,” he gestured emphatically at the checkered board before him.

“You can play your silly little game, and I’ll be over here dancing by myself,” her arched eyebrow lifted as she smiled at him. Illya let out a sigh and stood. “Maybe if you joined me in that bottle we can both have a little fun.”

“I think not.” Illya declined, never wanting to touch the fiery liquid that ruined too many of his comrade’s lives. “Perhaps you should be working on your Russian,”

“Oh, there are other days to work on that. But look at us here, Illya, look around. We are in Paris, France, the city of love! The night is beautiful, the spirits are fine, and there is a mood for dancing.” Her accent was thick with German lilts and growls, causing the tall Russian to grin just a little too broadly at her reverie.

“Fine, li’l chop shop girl, I will indulge you.” He stood before her, arms crossed, moving his body mechanically from side to side.

“I can see you haven’t quite caught the joie de vivre here in Paris,” she answered. She took hold of his large brutish hands in her small calloused ones, pulling his rigid arms from side to side. “Do try to feel the music a little.”

“I am trying,” Gaby could feel his hands squeezing in rage as she challenged him. She rolled her large brown eyes in exasperation, but did not prod him anymore.

“I promise I’m not angering you on purpose, just...relax a little,” She let go of his hands and ran her fingers up the length of his brawny arms to rest on his broad shoulders.

She was on her tiptoes just to reach them, but she used the force of gravity to press lightly on the tense muscles, causing him to drop his square stance. Her hands planted on the dip of his shoulders she slowly began to sway him side to side. “See, it’s not so bad if you just let go of your tension for just a moment.”

“Whatever you say, chop shop girl,” he replied, but she could feel him melt slightly around her. All the guards and defenses he carefully kept up around him were being lowered with every exhale. His sway began to loosen and he began to rock back and forth with her, his hands rising from his sides to wrap around her slim waist, pulling her flush against him.

She offered him an encouraging grin, catching his deep blue eyed gaze as he slowly moved her back to the right and then to the left. She naturally followed his lead, one of her hands slipping down his left arm to have it caught in cup of his palm. He held her tall and proud with his strong right arm. Leisurely the two moved in a slow sweeping box pattern around the room. The piano and the trumpets playing a symphony behind them.

Gaby’s right hand traveled from his shoulder to hold the round bicep of right arm. She took a deep breath before dropping her head to his chest. His heart beat strongly, albeit a little quickly, underneath the maroon shirt he wore, and she had to concentrate on his small pushes to keep in time to the rhythm of the radio. His beating never synched to that of the percussion.

She could feel her thoughts floating away, a mix of the alcohol and the soothing flow of the clumsy waltz, and her eyelids grew heavy with euphoria. She could never admit how much she enjoyed being in the embrace of these strong arms, being led by the sweet yet still not sure Russian blond who was slowly stealing her heart. That would be far too embarrassing.

And Solo would never let her live that down.

But she could stay here in his grasp, moving in slow wide circles, his breath hot on the top of her head where it hovered mere centimeters above, his hand warming the fingers that it curled around. She could breath in the smell of cigars and coffee that trailed him no matter how hard he tried to cover it with that expensive cologne. A smell of home, a nostalgia she wished wasn’t hidden by a curtain of iron.

Her recollections were interrupted as Illya stumbled, jolting her backwards and away from the curve of his body. She let out a gasp, but did not hit the rug beneath the two as his reflexes caught her in his strong hands. Her heart beat quickly from the scare and she gulped away the cry that almost escaped her throat.

“I thought you couldn’t dance,” Gaby shook her head to brush her hair over her shoulder, masking her fear with a calm voice.

“I have many secrets, this you should know, chop shop girl,” he was still leaning over her, frozen in the position he had caught her in.

She pulled closer to him, her lips inches from his, his breath which had once been warming her head was now a furnace against her lips. She bit her bottom lip as she looked at the pink curve of his mouth, daring herself to try another one of his secrets, to pull from him gently and assuredly.

She looked up from his lips to his eyes, his pupils were wide and his gaze was jumping from one of her eyes to the other. Slowly his face relaxed, his eyelids falling to rest on his cheeks.

She tensed, listening for the foil that had so many a times been played between the two of them. An untimely bellhop, an uninvited Intelligence agent, an expertly timed Solo.

But the only sounds in the room was that of a new song beginning, the drums sounding steady and sure, welcoming the way of an unassuming piano song starting.

In their confidence she pressed her mouth against his.

It was not a kiss of unbridled passion. He did not push strongly against her mouth, she did not part her lips to grasp onto his.

His lips pressed to hers, warm and soft, his mouth tasting of coffee and gunpowder. She would wonder about the second part if her head wasn’t reeling with new senses. His right hand pressed into her back, pulling her close to his body, his other wrapping about the back of her neck as he kissed her, as slowly and surely as their impromptu dance.

And when he let go of her lips, let go of her body, straightened to his full stature; she found herself filled and empty all at once.

She reached out for his hand, wrapping her fingers around as much of it as she could.

“I have many secrets as well,” Gaby confessed.

“Perhaps, in time, we can share our secrets, chop shop girl,” Illya’s voice was thick and his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“But for now,” Gaby wrapped her hand around his arm, placed her hand in the alcove of his. “Can we finish this dance?”

“That we can,” Illya agreed, pulling her body against his, tucking her in tightly. He began their slow circle around the room, across the soft rug. Her head leant into his chest and he placed another sweet kiss among her hair. “That we can.”


End file.
